


The Difference

by crankyoldman



Category: Final Fantasy X
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:45:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crankyoldman/pseuds/crankyoldman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Decorum vs. Shenanigans, part 1000.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Difference

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seventhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhe/gifts).



> So I totally started this for a comfort zone meme thing, and this was a weird combination of Seventhe's prompts: _FFVIII: Any characters, but action - in battle - a mission - etc. Something loud and hard and you can't be too vague, ha ha. OR FFX: Braska, Jecht, Auron (or, uh, Braska/Jecht/Auron in any combination)._ So you get FFX, with some action. And stuff. I swear this was originally supposed to be porn, I just liked the last line too much. XD

He owed a lot of things to Jecht, though he would never say it, or even think it in his presence.

Auron was beginning to hate Coeurls the most, moreso than any of the other fiends that roamed around. His way of fighting was direct, hard, and complete. But Coeurls were quite a bit like Blitzball players on land--quick, nimble, and dodgy. Even if he spent all his time training his arm, it would never be the quickness needed to catch up with that sort of fiend or fighter. Even though when Jecht fought fiends he always used that ridiculous mockery of a sword of his, he sometimes dropped it in favor of using his fists--a ridiculous thing to watch.

It was like that now, Auron missing--again, he would have to work on that--and Jecht throwing form to the wind and acting like this was just another bar fight. His left hand was doing the most damage, because he had to be left-handed, like geniuses and loonies always were. Auron had hated it before Jecht, when Braska had first approached him and there were only simple fiends to deal with and the Summoner would pull out Valefor without even a notice. But it was worse now, with the crunch of phantom bone as Jecht proved yet again that he was useful, especially now that he'd given up drinking.

"Geez, Stiff, is that how you monks do it?" Jecht was doing that smirk-grin-thing as the pyreflies scattered around him, and Braska was pulling his sphere grid into the air in front of him, no doubt finding some dexterity from that encounter.

"You mean leaving yourself defenseless and weaponless for a simple Coeurl? No, that is most certainly _not_ how a Monk would do it."

Braska quietly chuckled, which made Auron wish yet again he'd been given permission to appropriately teach Jecht the rules of decorum. He couldn't be mad at Braska for the addition to the group, because honestly, what person could get mad at a man like that? So Auron had resorted to small and petty things, like waking up earlier and earlier to train, making sure to make as much noise in the tent as possible when they were out on the plains, or to drop something if they were given a room.

But out here, there wasn't much he could do but scowl.

"If it's so simple, why didn't you take it out yourself?"

Auron had been itching for a contest, some proof that his ways were always better. That the formerly drunk but always delusional heathen would validate his life of discipline and servitude. That the only thing he'd done wrong was politics, which he'd not really been prepared for. Politics was for people like Braska, who were patient enough. Auron had only wanted to be a soldier of sorts, and was eternally grateful for this chance at redeeming his name. If only the stupid heathen would stop slowing them down.

"Then let's settle this."

"How?"

"By a count of fiends. Braska can judge, since we are supposed to be with him at all times."

Braska had flicked the grid out of the air, and had that look in his eyes that was amused. The one that Auron liked best, all things considered on the journey. But then Braska rarely seemed troubled. Maybe a part of him was proving something to Braska too.

\---

Jecht was a low down honorless _cheater_. The bruise that was likely forming on his shin could attest to this fact.

It was supposed to be a contest of numbers, not a race. But again and again Jecht kept stealing his kills. He simply stood around and waited until Auron had a fiend nearly down and swooped in with a critical hit. Once Auron caught onto this he started to feign victories, but Jecht adjusted. Pretty soon, he was the only one hitting. And then he was winning because he was doing it the _right_ way. Frustrating.

Jecht turned to him and smirked. "I'm not impressed so much anymore. Geez you're easy to rile up."

The hell with rules.

His sword made a satisfying smack as he leveraged the blunt end at Jecht, but not as satisfying as the look of surprise on his face. He went down with about as much grace as he usually did; cursing up a storm and flailing the entire way. Auron loomed over him as Jecht did his best impression of a beached fish.

"You want to know the difference, Jecht?"

He could hear that kind of choking sound Braska made when he was trying to be polite and not laugh; it made him grin.

"You're a psycho?!"

"Big sword. Big fall."

Braska called it a draw at that.


End file.
